and learnt from Painswick how nearly Mrs Wilkinson had come to being sold. Bonny had been economical with the truth and not told him she’d come down to Willowwood or that Seth had been present.
My Bonny lies over the ocean, My Bonny lies …
Valent loathed dinner parties, everyone talking about house prices and schools and asking him for free financial advice.
He also felt a prat. Insisting the dress code for tonight was casual, Bonny had persuaded him, before he left for the yard, to put on a poncy pink flower-patterned shirt, which Bonny had bought for his birthday and which he’d always resisted wearing. And there were Seth, Martin and H-H all in smoking jackets.
As he arrived, Romy was saying playfully to Seth, ‘You must talk to Bonny now, because you’re not sitting next to her at dinner.’
‘How’s Clod?’ murmured Seth.
‘You must not call him that,’ murmured back Bonny.
‘There’s an interesting development, tell you later,’ said Seth.
Next moment the men’s hands fluttered to smooth their hair as Trixie sauntered in, deliberately provocative in a flower-patterned satin blazer, worn with nothing underneath and the briefest pink satin shorts.
‘You’re late,’ fumed Romy. ‘You’re supposed to be waitressing, and that’s not an appropriate outfit.’
‘For God’s sake, push around the fizz,’ exploded Martin, handing her a bottle.
‘I’ll open it,’ said Valent, taking the bottle from Trixie.
‘You look cool,’ said Trixie, kissing him. ‘If we stand side by side, people’ll think we’re a herbaceous border.’
‘Blanche,’ called out Romy, ‘this is our neighbour Valent Edwards.’
Blanche left her tiny hand in Valent’s huge paw longer than necessary.
‘We’ve met before,’ said Valent without warmth.
‘I’m sure you’d rather have a beer,’ interrupted Trixie, handing Valent a can of Carlsberg, so he turned away from Blanche to talk to her. ‘Where’s your nan, I mean grandmother?’
‘Romy didn’t want her here,’ hissed Trixie. ‘That enamelled stick insect was Grandpa’s mistress. She’s bound to make a pass at you.’
‘Nice pictures,’ said Valent, glancing round the room.
‘They’re Granny’s, they shoved her into that bungalow so they could cop the lot. Mum’s done the same.’
‘How’s Mrs Wilkinson?’
Trixie’s face darkened. ‘Did you know that Seth, Dad, Bonny and all those creeps voted to sell her?’
‘I had heard,’ said Valent grimly.
‘Trixie,’ thundered Martin, ‘you’re supposed to be waitressing.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Where the hell’s Corinna?’
‘She’ll be along in a minute,’ said Seth.
He and Corinna had in fact had a frightful row. Both due to go into Antony and Cleopatra at Stratford in February, they had been offered a short provincial tour of their great hit as Elyot and Amanda in Private Lives.
Corinna had refused; she was shattered from her last tour as Hester in The Deep Blue Sea.
‘I’d look like Amanda’s grandmother. You do it, it’ll keep you busy.’
‘They want you,’ Seth had said evenly. That was the irking thing. ‘They’ll only do it if you do it, you’re the crowd-puller.’
Corinna had mentally left Hester and was morphing into Cleopatra, the great man-eater. She knew Seth and Bonny were up to something. Her aim for tonight was to seduce Valent. Then she wouldn’t have to spend her life on tour and supporting Seth.
85
Corinna arrived half cut in very low-cut black velvet and was irritated when Romy insisted they went straight in. She was even crosser when she discovered she had been seated between that little weasel Harvey-Holden and his mountain of a wife, round whom she couldn’t see a millimetre of Valent who was seated on Jude’s right.
The oppressive heat from the fire had given Seth an excuse to take off his smoking jacket and reveal the lean excellence of his body. Romy and Blanche on his left and right were drooling over him. Martin was between Blanche and Bonny, who had H-H on her left.
As they tucked into crayfish and salmon ravioli, Trixie, as she poured the Sauvignon into everyone’s glasses, announced in a stage whisper that Granny had done the cooking. Blanche and Bonny looked as though they were being poisoned.
Martin and Blanche clinked glasses.
‘It’s good to see you.’
‘And you.’
‘Etta was so jealous,’ said Blanche, hardly lowering her voice. ‘Sampy loved my blanquette de veau, but Etta would never cook veal for him. He also loved foie gras.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘So strange to see his portrait looking down, I feel he has come home.’
Bloody old cow, thought Trixie as she handed round the pheasant casserole, but she was distracted to feel Seth’s warm hand caressing her thigh as she served him.
‘Why are you ignoring me?’
‘Because you wanted to sell Mrs Wilkinson,’ hissed